In the Madness There Are Words That I Can't Say
by Prosperina
Summary: A twisted retelling of Season 1 and 2. Sort of. Mark x Addison


**Summary:** A twisted retelling of Season 1 and 2. Sort of.

**Disclaimer:** All characters belong to Shonda Rhimes & co.

* * *

**IN THE MADNESS  
THERE ARE WORDS THAT I CAN'T SAY**

* * *

**I was never good at writing love letters  
**  
_Mark,_

_I was going to leave a week ago. I left my key at the door. My suitcases were all packed, and I had them hidden in the closet when I kissed you good morning (and goodbye)._

_That morning, I told you I would see you soon. At the time, it was a lie._

_I think your kiss did something to me. It has no problem making an adulteress but not a liar out of me.  
_  
(The phone rings, and the rest remains unread.)

* * *

**My husband's girlfriend knows the meaning of "adore"  
**  
Seattle rains like nobody's business. It rained when the plane touched down, it rained on the way to the hotel, and it rained on my walk to the hospital. My hair frizzed up before each careful curl had time to bounce.

Richard said to drop by when I arrived and we'd go over the finer details of his offer. There was a crackle through the telephone line. Nobody said the words, but we both heard "_and Derek is here._"

As luck would have it, I see Derek and The Intern upon my first steps into the hospital. He is fiddling with her collar, and she smiles up at him adoringly. I imagine he is admiring his skill.

Watching them gives me a headache the size of Manhattan. When I shake my head, a wave of nausea sweeps into the city.

The Intern sees me first, but her gaze flickers past me. I'm sure she doesn't realize who I am. Derek left our home in the middle of the night; he wouldn't have had time to spirit away a photo of me to display in his office. If I know Derek, I'm sure he's done his best to pretend that I don't exist: Addison Forbes Montgomery, that redhead he met in med school. Someone he knew at twenty-four. That is all.

When he sees me, he quickly turns back to The Intern and speaks fervently. She listens and then nods, goes back up the elevator. When she is safely gone, he stalks over to me.

"What are you doing here?"

_I tried to call you_, I say._Richard offered me a job here_. A few seconds pass, his eyebrows raise impatiently, and I realize that I haven't spoken the words at all. My voice, taking the cue of many other things in my life, has jumped off the ship into the sea of failure.

"Look, you know what, I don't care. I'm not interested in what you have to say. Just don't talk to me. And stay away from Dr. Intern."

Of course, he uses her actual name, the most respectable form. I don't hear it.

I should follow him; I should explain. At the very least, I should head in the same direction and find Richard, but all I want to do is to go to that dismal-looking bar I spotted across the street.

"That, Addie, is probably your worst idea yet."

I turn around, slowly.

Mark. He is leaning against one of the columns, arms crossed, an unreadable expression in his cool eyes. He has followed me to a place I'm not sure I wanted to go.

I want to say to him: _What are you doing here? Wait, I don't care, I'm not interested in what you have to say_, but the words don't come out. My throat has dried up. There is a drought in me.

"Come home," he says, implores.

I shake my head, and then more frantically when I hear the Intern's voice in the distance, accompanied by Derek's low laugh. I push Mark to the side and out of sight, cringing at the thought of what will happen when Derek sees him here. I'd probably need a suturing kit, and my hair is still frizzy.

Instead, Derek walks to entrance and pointedly ignoring my presence. The Intern looks at me curiously, but she follows his lead.

"He can't see me," Mark says quietly.

I roll my eyes. _Thank God_.

"No," he says, "You're the only one who sees me."

* * *

**Today, you are here; tomorrow, I will be there  
**  
I'm still in Seattle. My voice is still elsewhere. Mark is doing an incredible impersonation of Casper (and racking up his frequent flyer miles along the way). The other alternative is that I am going insane.

Dr. Yang collapses in Dr. Burke's OR, and then she is wheeled into mine. An ectopic pregnancy, I'm told. Her insides are tied up, and the fetus wants out.

I wait for the anesthetist to put her out before I start.

The scalpel -- my sixth finger -- does most of the work.

"I love your hands."

This is Mark again. He stands next to me, watching my hands flick and flex from over my shoulder. He reaches over and traces the vein along my wrist. He has surgeons' hands too, and his finger pauses in precisely two spots: where my pulse is the strongest and where it makes me flinch.

I glance around. No one seems to notice him.

And he is the only one who can hear me.

_You're not supposed to be in here_.

"Are you coming home yet?"

I shake my head.

"Addie," he sighs, this time a whisper against my ear, "I need you to come back."

He's gone some time between the third and the fourth cut.

The nurse starts suction without my asking. Surgery while mute is not as difficult as I might have thought.

Then, suddenly, I watch in horror as Yang wakes up. I freeze, my finger still half-buried in her abdomen. She stares up at me, eyes bulging with pain. She shakes for a long second, and then relaxes, smiles.

"Don't worry," she says. "I'm going to sleep now." And then she does. She looks peaceful.

I go back to saving her life and killing her baby's.

* * *

**You always leave me in stitches  
**  
I'm getting better at ignoring him. Sometimes, if I walk fast enough, he can't follow.

Other times, I forget that I should run.

The Intern is clever; she knows many things. She's very good at making my husband jealous, sometimes even without trying. Today, she only needs to talk to a man in a leather jacket before Derek punches him out.

"That's Mark," Derek tells her, before leaving in search of some ice for his hands.

Mark gets up, and there is a cut on his cheek. Derek's ring, the one that ironically symbolizes our marriage, can do more damage that it may first appear.

Mark follows me into a room where I have a suture kit ready.

"Oh, come on. You're not even a little happy to see me?"

I silent sew up the gaping wound.

I don't touch his wounded expression.

_I thought only I could see you. _

But this time, he doesn't hear me.

"You know, all three of us made mistakes -- you, me, Derek. But somehow, I lost my best friend and the woman that I love. Somehow, I lost you."

I cut the last thread and turn to leave. He catches my hand before I can go.

"I'm here to bring you home, Addison. Your marriage is over. All you have to do is admit it."

_Please, just go_.

He pulls a plane ticket from her jacket, presses it into my hand. "The flight is at 7. I'll wait for you."

I shake my head and let the ticket fall from my hands, leave it and him behind.

This much he understands.

* * *

**Everyone sings in the right key but me  
**  
I watch my husband walk out of the elevator, and I am relieved. He is alive. The grounds shook when the bomb went off, but _he is alive_.

He is relieved too, because the Intern is alive.

_What a death-defying pair they are_, I think. _Explosives have nothing on them_.

That night, Derek tells me, "Bailey's husband is going to be fine."

I nod.

"I saved their marriage. I thought that warranted a souvenir."

He shows me the scalpel from the surgery. The sharp edge winked at me._We are all friends here_, it says.

Derek places a hand on my shoulder comfortingly, gives it a firm squeeze. "Don't worry, Addison," he says. "Everything is going to be okay. It's been crazy these last few weeks, but I know what to do now. I can fix this."

The three of us, we all have surgeons' hands. We know how to make each other cut and bleed, but we have the training to do it gracefully.

Tonight, Derek wields it like a steak knife: a quick jab to my side, holds it in place.

I want to scream. I want to fight him off but I am frozen.

He smiles reassuringly. "I'm saving your voice now."

And then the steak knife hits a rib, and I scream and scream, and I know he can hear me but still he smiles at the sound. He smiles because he can leave, and then he does and Mark returns.

"Come home," he says again. "I miss you."

He looks tired, like he hasn't slept for days. (What does he do in the moments I don't see him? Where does he go?)

My hand is slippery on my stomach. "I can't," I say, my voice rusty from non-use. "We don't work. You drive me insane."

"I have a good shrink. She gives a discount for couples."

"I think," I say, "you're the only one who would want me like this. You must be insane, too."

"I am."

And then I smile, because this makes no sense, but he is here, and Derek's trailer has all of our things, and we are home. "Mark," I say. "I'm going to sleep now."

He says, "I'll be here."

* * *

**Things unread are not things unsaid  
**  
I said many other things in the letter, but I ended it like this:

_This was a mistake. I'm sorry I dragged you into the mess that is my life._

_Goodbye._

_-- Addison_

* * *

**The skies are brighter than I have ever seen**

Derek is standing by the window when I wake up. Outside, I can see the grays of the New York City skyline.

There are bandages around my head. When I press down on my left temple, I feel a searing pain.

"Derek," I croak.

"Addison." He smiles at me soothingly, like a shark. "I'm glad you're okay."

"You're here," I say, but it is a question because he's not supposed to be here anymore.

"You were in a car accident. Mark asked me to come back to operate." He pauses and leans down to touch my hand. "That's all."

My mind is fuzzy, but I manage to say, "thank you" before he leaves. I wonder if while operating he spilt some of that Seattle rain in my head.

Mark is sleeping in a chair, his head resting on my bed. His wrinkled doctor's coat is draped lazily across the back of the chair.

I run my fingers through his hair. There's an intravenous needle in the back of my hand, and the plastic tubing grazes at his face.

"I came home," I whisper.

He smiles in his sleep and tightens his grip on my hand. Our surgeons' hands.

I imagine that he is dreaming of a place where we have no scars, and where therapy is free.

I close my eyes. I think I will join him there.

* * *

**FIN **

You may have noticed some similarities to _The Would-Be Thief_, and that would be because this was the original story before it got completely reworked!

All comments will be much, _much_ appreciated. )


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